


The Letter in His Pocket

by wasureneba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Neville is a BAMF, Neville was put in Gryffindor for a reason, the evolution of Neville's badassery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasureneba/pseuds/wasureneba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry, Hermione, and Ron come down the stairs, heading for a midnight adventure, it is up to Neville to stand up to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Letter in His Pocket

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for schizophrenic0 over at LJ, who requested Neville being brave. I hope you enjoy it, dear. Thank you to pinksonia & evening12 @LJ for beta-reading this.

Neville held the note in his hand, feeling both miserable and elated at the same time. He'd received it that morning during the breakfast post, and had read it at least twenty times since then; McGonagall had glared at him when he'd glanced at it during Transfiguration, although she had softened when he'd gone red-faced and nearly melted under the glare.

>   
> _Neville,_
> 
> _Professor McGonagall has informed me of the incident involving the Astronomy Tower the other night, as well as its consequences. I am pleased to see you working to help your housemates and friends. I am far less pleased at the method. There is no reason for an eleven-year-old to be out of bounds at night. The curfew exists for a reason: the castle holds dangers, especially at night, and your skills are not developed enough for you to handle them. Even if it did not, you should strongly consider what the pay-off for your actions is. Perhaps you could have successfully found Potter without being caught---but you did not, and you lost your house fifty points. It is up to you whether or not it was worth it._
> 
> _I am also saddened to see my own grandson duped by a_ Malfoy _into believing that another student would have a dragon in the castle. It's a preposterous claim, and clearly meant to get you and the Potter boy in trouble. Be more discerning with the rumours you hear; most of them are based in nothing but jealousy and treachery. People will try to manipulate you to do what they want. Don't let them._
> 
> _I will see you soon at the platform._
> 
> _Gran_   
> 

He'd had a moment where his heart leapt, when she'd told him she was glad; a moment of gratification, of feeling like he was perhaps not a disappointment. And then he'd moved on---had felt his fluttering heart sink back down, shamed. He'd felt sick all day, and been unable to eat dinner; he'd hidden here in the corner of the common room until far past the time when all the other students had gone to bed. He hadn't tried to get in trouble, or to lose Gryffindor points. All he'd wanted was to warn Harry.

Even if it was a foolish thing. Weren't Gryffindors supposed to be a bit foolhardy?

He sank back into his chair and stared at the fire. Trevor sat on his knee, small toad feet clutching the boney edge of his kneecap, and let Neville stroke the sensitive spot on the back of the toad's neck. There was no way that he would be sleeping any time soon, Neville knew. He pulled his feet up under him, Trevor hopping down to the floor from his perch, and wrapped his arms around his knees. He sat, mesmerized by the flames, the sick feeling still gripping the space below and inside his ribs. He was so tired of being a disappointment, of never quite getting it right. He knew he hadn't done wrong, he knew he hadn't. All he wanted, really, was to make Gran proud. He thought he'd seen something in there, in the letter, that she was proud that he'd stood up to help a friend. It was just so hard to tell with Gran; she was so strict, so exacting, and it was never clear what parts of her criticism he should take as praise. 

Neville dreamt, sometimes, of Gran proudly recounting his exploits to his mother and father, and their faces crinkling in matching pride. 

When he heard soft voices and the shuffling of feet, he was unable to reconstruct exactly how much time he had spent sitting there. The fire was still roaring, although two of the logs had long since broken in half. He leaned down to scoop up Trevor; he should be heading to bed. It was late and he would have to be up for class in the morning. The voices kept murmuring; he could barely make out the word "Filch," and recognized the speaker as Harry.

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing up from his chair, clutching Trevor to his chest. If there was anyone he did not want to see right now, it was Harry Potter, and especially Harry Potter sneaking around at night.

"Nothing, Neville, nothing," Harry said, hurrying to conceal something behind his back. Hermione looked guilty next to him; Ron seemed annoyed. Neville narrowed his eyes, and stared at them. He knew what they were doing just by reading their expressions. They were going to break curfew, and lose Gryffindor more points, and _it wasn't fair_ , he thought. It wasn't right.

"You're going out again," he said dumbly, unable to make his voice sound as strong as he wished.

"No, no, no," Hermione replied, false cheer on her face. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"

He felt something that had been building up inside him since reading his Gran's letter crumble at the tenor of her voice. He'd felt such guilt at having been played by Malfoy; and here it was happening again, except this time it was a friend. He knew Hermione, had partnered with her all year in classes. He knew when she was lying, and she was lying by the skin of her teeth.

He saw Harry look nervously at the clock. He gulped. This couldn't happen. They were going to lose Gryffindor more points---were going to cause more trouble. It just wasn't right, he thought. Gryffindor had worked hard, the whole house, for those points, and it just wasn't right for Harry and Ron and Hermione to go lose them. They'd all done it once, and it shouldn't happen again. His hands were shaking, but he stood.

"You can't go out," he said, voice a bit stronger. "You'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."

"You don't understand," Harry broke out; Hermione let out a mild huff. Ron's face was turning a strange reddish-purple shade. "This is important."

The thing inside him crumbled more. "I won't let you do it," he said, hurrying over in front of the portrait hole. "I'll--I'll fight you!"

Ron's face had, at this point, gone magenta. " _Neville!_ Get away from that hole and don't be an idiot--"

Neville exploded, then. It was one thing, he thought, for Hermione to try to manipulate him, or for Harry to try to reason. It was another thing to be insulted by one of his housemates. "Don't you call me an idiot! I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yeah, but not to _us_. Neville, you don't know what you're doing." Ron stepped forward, and Neville hardened his jaw. He let Trevor fall from his hands, and was glad to see the toad hop hurriedly into a corner.

"Go on then," he said, "try and hit me! I'm ready!" He raised his fists in front of his face, hoping that the display of aggression would make them go back to the dormitories. He really didn't want to get into a fistfight with Ron Weasley; he was sure that anyone with five older brothers had much more practice in both evading and giving punches. Still, he thought, he'd take a mysterious, un-reported black eye over Gryffindor losing another 150 points.

" _Do something_ ," Harry said to Hermione, looking at her beseechingly. Hermione looked back at Harry, and then stepped towards Neville.

"Neville," she said, "I'm really, really sorry about this." He was waiting for a fist, or a tackle, or something else, when she raised her wand and cried " _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

He hit the floor, the letter in his back pocket pressing into his leg. They stepped over and around him, Hermione apologizing profusely with a shocked look on her face, and he wished he could close his eyes. He didn't want to see them, didn't want to be left staring at the point where the portrait hole came close to the ceiling.

He lay, waiting, and tried to content himself with the fact that he knew he had done the right thing.


End file.
